“Even if he is not here tonight, the spirit of Mandela is in Soccer City!” Sepp Blatter screamed over the vuvuzelas. And for nearly 80 minutes, the whole of South Africa believed the exhortation as some unseen, invisible force seemed to be driving the Bafana Bafana to the victory which would have sealed a nation’s - no, a continent’s - dream day. Nothing, sadly, could be that perfect.

The great Mandiba had so cruelly been unable to attend the launch of Africa’s historic happening in Johannesburg, the death in a car accident of his teenage great granddaughter providing the one truly awful jolt amid a day of wonderful uplift, but his presence seemed everywhere.

It was there when Mexico, outplaying the hosts for fun, seemed, like some international Arsenal, irrationally unable to put away the chances which reflected their domination. Mandela, we thought, was the unseen goalkeeper.

It was there when, during a second half revival full of brio, Siphiwe Tshabalala, a lad who could barely even get into Kaizer Chiefs’ first XI about a year ago, broke the shackles with a counter-attacking goal of such searing quality that it will be etched forever in folklore here.

But just when Soweto was readying itself for the party to end all parties, the force mysteriously disappeared. First, defensive sleepiness allowed Rafa Marquez, Barcelona’s streetwise defender, to steal in unmarked and steer home an equaliser with 11 minutes left, just when South Africa’s determined application and superior fitness appeared to have prevailed.

Then, in the 89th minute, Katiego Mphela muscled on to the end of a long hopeful punt upfield from his goalkeeper Itumeleng Khune and trickled his left foot shot goalbound, only to languish in agony as he saw it bounce apologetically off the post.

Silence was the sound of utter deflation. The truth is that on a day which was laden with such import for Africa and for sport, it should not really have mattered that the Bafana Bafana could not offer the ideal denouement. No good telling the players that, though. They are still haunted by the thought of being the least successful hosts in the event’s 80-year history and their late failing here still leaves that a distinct possibility, with victory over either France or Uruguay now required.

There was no reason for self-reproach, though. This team, which used to be considered a joke here, played a wonderful, spirited part in what had been a day like no other.

To be part of the epic trek of 90,000 to Soccer City’s extraordinary calabash, a smiling, cheering, trumpet-blowing mass of pilgrims who could not help but stir you with their utter pride and joy at staging Africa’s greatest ever sporting event, felt like a rare privilege.

Inside the stadium, Francois Pienaar, the man who lifted rugby’s World Cup for the new Rainbow Nation, cast his mind back 15 years to tell me how this was so much more monumental and ground-breaking than the 1995 triumph.

Yet one thing remained the same. He remembered how he felt before that final against New Zealand and understood exactly the sense of responsibility the Bafana Bafana would be experiencing in their dressing room. “This is their moment,” he sighed, a little misty eyed. “The moment of their lives.”

And when the moment of their lives came, no wonder they felt burdened. They tried not to look it, with captain Aaron Mokoena doing his little Roger Milla tribute dance in the tunnel as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but the enormity must have hit home once they listened to the message relayed from Mandela by their President that they should go out and enjoy the game.

Easier said than done when for the first 15 minutes they could barely lay a foot on the ball as Javier Aguirre’s fluid 4-3-3 formation sliced effortlessly through and around them. Giovani dos Santos looked determined, in the face of the hosts’ porous midfield, to identify himself the first star of the competition rather than a Tottenham discard, and was a vivid orchestrator.

Carlos Alberto Parreira’s side survived more by luck than judgement as myriad chances went begging and Arsenal’s Carlos Vela had an offside goal disallowed, but at half-time, the coach brought off his hapless left back Lucas Thwala and demanded a less timid approach.

Within 10 minutes, Fulham’s Kagisho Dikgacoi, previously most celebrated for giving Scott Parker a slap on his debut, delivered a defence-splitting diagonal ball which may not be bettered in the entire tournament to set up the devastating left foot strike from man of the match Tshabalala, a slight midfielder Parreira has helped transform into what calls “our very own Brazilian”.

Parreira, just as Guus Hiddink did with South Korea’s surprise packets in 2002, has drilled remarkable fitness into this squad and they appeared to be still going the stronger in Johannesburg’s thin air, having a couple of chances to extend their lead through Teko Modise before the lapse which saw them fail to pick up Marquez.

"Mexico threatened us early on, but I believe we were more balanced in the second half and could have won," said Parreira. “The result was not the one we wanted but it will keep us alive until the last game in the group. It’s a fair result”.

Yes, a fair result on a fantastic day. “The dream came true,” Blatter had told the crowd before the game. Not completely it hadn’t - but, as Parreira smiled: “There is still time”.